


lights will guide you home

by BlackJacketsandPens



Series: Ardyn Yescon Week 2k18 [7]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ardyn YesCon Week, F/M, M/M, Multi, SHAMELESS BITTERSWEET HAPPY ENDING, THE NEW DLC BETTER GIVE ME SOMETHING LIKE THIS, let him be happy and heal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-28 21:53:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14458545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackJacketsandPens/pseuds/BlackJacketsandPens
Summary: Ardyn Yescon Week 2018, Day 7 - "Contentment"(and we will try to fix you)It was over. It’s over, at long last. He can rest -- and be alone in the darkness, what he deserves. He’s free now, and he supposes the solitude again is just what the Accursed gets for all he’s done. He’s used to it. But there are people waiting for him, and their light calls him home...





	lights will guide you home

Death was darker than he’d expected. Not that he knew what he’d been expecting -- death was a great unknown. But it was death, and it was peace at last. He didn’t hurt anymore, didn’t feel any pain or any discomfort, didn’t feel the Scourge dragging claws across the inside of his skin or whispering in his head. He honestly didn’t recall how it had happened; he remembered dying, the act of it, the blade through his chest and his vision greying out, Noctis the last thing he’d seen. He remembered a brief flash in the Astral plane, perhaps? Noctis again, and-- others? And Lunafreya? It was a great blur drowned out by agony and the cacophony of millions of daemons, screaming as they were burned out of their host by the magic of ten years’ dormancy.

Now he was alone and free and dead and human, like he’d wanted, and with the clarity of finally being himself again, no more Scourge...that was a whole other kind of hurt. Guilt and regret and shame, at what he’d become and what he’d done, at the children he’d hurt and at the kingdom -- his kingdom -- he’d plunged into darkness. All of the things he’d sunk so low to do just to get this end.

This end...it was what he wanted. It had been what he’d sought for two thousand years-- death. To bring the gods to account, yes, but that was...that was secondary, if he was honest. This was the true goal: his own end. To his long life, and to his suffering. To a lonely existence he’d no longer wanted. Now it was over, and he was...still alone.

Not that he didn’t deserve that, though. This darkness, it was...this dark solitude was almost peaceful, in a way, and he deserved it for what he’d done to people who hadn’t deserved anything. Loneliness, emptiness...a fitting punishment for the Accursed. A small blessing was that he was free from pain, but...mm. 

He didn’t know how long it had been. Time was probably meaningless in the afterlife, and in the dark it was...hard to tell anything. He wasn’t even sure if there was a floor or ceiling -- and he only knew he had some kind of physical body because he was sitting curled up, head resting on his knees. He still felt so _tired_ \-- he didn’t know what would change that. Tired and beaten down and broken...broken twice over. Once when he’d become a monster, unable to die, and had spent a thousand years trying to die. He’d given up on that eventually, tried to just make it day by day and live, and then...he’d broken again. He hadn’t been human, hadn’t been able to make any meaningful connections, hadn’t felt part of anything-- and it had broken him again.

That second break he’d put himself back together twisted and wrong, and...now he was dead. And he didn’t know how to undo that. He was just tired now, at least -- the bitterness and rage and hatred had mostly died with him -- and all that remained was exhaustion and emptiness, and...the memory of who he used to be. And that man had been dead far longer than this one. He didn’t know how to fix it alone.

And he _was_ alone. He deserved to be.

Footsteps behind him are the first noise he hears in what feels like forever, and he stiffens -- and more so when he feels a weight behind him, someone kneeling down, and arms around his shoulders. He doesn’t know who it is, and the strange unfamiliarity of physical contact is saddening-- but they’re warm, whoever they are, and their arms are pale and it feels like they’re the only thing he can see in this darkness-- a sort of soft brightness that makes his breath catch when he realizes… “Stella…?” He asks, his voice faint and fragile.

“Ardyn,” the person behind him says softly, head tucking itself into his shoulder. “I’ve missed you.” It is her. It’s Stella, her arms around him and her warmth at his back. Real and present, not the ephemeral shade he’d seen before once or twice, a hallucination or the gods taunting him. _Real_. Free from her own fate and with him in the afterlife, and his hands come up to take hers before he can catch up to his own mind. When it does, though, he shifts to pull away, almost, turning to look at her but tense like he half wants to flee. She’s there, same as he’d last seen her, blonde hair short and dress simple white, and her blue eyes soft and gentle and sad.

“I--” He tries, and he knows he’s already emotional, because she’s just as beautiful as ever, and the memory of how much he loved her surfaces with ease now that the darkness in him is gone -- it’s not a memory, either. He still loves her. She’s still half of his soul, ripped out of him two thousand years ago by his own hands. “I’m sorry. I’m-- I wanted to...” Words trail off, voice breaking, and all the thousand things he needs to tell her clog in his throat. He’s sorry, he’s so very sorry. He’d just wanted to save her, to protect her, to keep her from dying, and he’s so sorry he ruined everything. He’d ruined her life, ruined the life of their baby daughter -- the one he hadn’t known about until years after he’d become a monster, because his illness had made her want to keep their child secret until he was better and then it was too late -- ruined everyone’s lives. He’s sorry, and he regrets it all, and the worst part is that he’s not the man she loved anymore. He can’t ever be again.

“It’s alright, Ardyn,” she tells him, moving to take his hands again. “I’ve been watching. I know you’re sorry. I…” Her own voice thickens with tears. “I’m sorry, too. I should have...I shouldn’t have let you. I shouldn’t have brought it to Somnus. I should have told you about Aquila before it was too late. I should have fought you harder when we found out. It isn’t just...it isn’t just you who’s to blame, Ardyn. We all loved each other too much-- that was our downfall, all of us. Don’t...don’t carry it all on you.”

He swallows, but doesn’t pull away even if he can’t meet her eyes. “But it _was_ all on me,” he says. “I...you died. I killed you, I as good as killed the others. For all we did, all our mistakes, I suffered for it. You...you were watching, Stella. You know what I became, what I did. Even if-- even if what the stupid young king did isn’t my fault alone, what the Accursed did _was_.” He laughs quietly, sadly. “I’m sorry. I...I’m not him anymore. You’re still you, but I’m not...I don’t know what I am. I’m...” 

“The man I love?” Stella says quietly, and though her cheeks are wet her voice is firmer now. “The man I’ve always loved and always will, no matter how broken he is or how much he’s lashed out at a world that hurt him so. The man I love, the one we all love, is still there, Ardyn. You were the sun itself, and nothing can put out the sun.” She leans in, now, and he can’t pull away, and she takes his face in her hands. “It may dim, and dark clouds may swallow it up, and it may seem like its been reduced to nothing but embers and ashes, but it’s still there. I know it is. And even if it isn’t, I don’t care.” Her voice cracks. “I’ve been waiting for you to come home for two thousand years, Ardyn. We all have. The condition you come home to us in...we can fix it. You can heal. You’re not alone, now. You’re at peace, and you-- you deserve that peace.”

Ardyn blinks. “Come home…?” He manages, staring up at her, the only thing lighting this endless darkness he’s been sitting in. “All of you…?” All of them? They’ve waited for him? They still...they don’t blame him? They didn’t _abandon_ him? “Do I really…?”

“You really do,” she tells him firmly. “You lived your punishment already, Ardyn. Two thousand years is enough time to suffer for what you did, even at the end. You’re safe now, and you’re home, and you can rest.” She stands, then, and leaves her hands out for him to take them. “Come home with me now, Ardyn. Please? We’ve missed you for so long, and...even if the rest of the world doesn’t want you, we do. We always will.”

He takes her hands, and nearly starts to cry when his own don’t simply pass through them. She’s here. She’s really here, and she’s-- she won’t disappear again. Not again. This is no hallucination, no imaginary phantom. It’s _her_.

She pulls him along, and he has to screw his eyes shut with a soft yelp as light seems to engulf them both, and he feels wind against his face-- they’re not in that endless place of darkness anymore, and he cracks his eyes open slowly. This is Lucis, he thinks, a piece of the afterlife that looks like his home. A cliff overlooking the coast -- he recognizes it as somewhere they’d all camped once during the pilgrimage, a place they hadn’t wanted to leave. The trees are sparse but green, the grass is soft, the wind is calm and cool, and the sun is bright. There’s the sound of faint waves below them and birds, and there are three more people waiting for him as they approach.

Hermes is the first to stand, eyes wide, and then they light up like the sun Ardyn can’t find in himself anymore -- he tears across the grass to close the distance, and throws himself on Ardyn with a cry, already weeping with joy. “Ardyn!” He manages, and-- and Ardyn can’t recall the last time someone’s been so genuinely happy to see him. “Oh my god, Ardyn, I’ve missed you!”

It takes a moment for Ardyn to return the hug -- he can barely recall how one works -- but then he’s clinging to the blond, and they both somehow end up on the ground, and he registers the rest of them joining the hug. He feels like he’s about to shatter again, but not-- not in a bad sense, this time. Shatter like he needs to shatter, like a badly healed bone needs to break again to heal.

“We’ve all missed you, Ardyn,” he hears Pyrrhus say shakily from his left. “So much.” 

And-- “We’re here,” Gilgamesh rumbles quietly. “I’m here. I never meant to leave you alone for so long. But we’re all together again, now, and I’ll never leave your side again.” 

He may say something else, but Ardyn doesn’t hear it. All of them are here with him. They still love him. After all he’s been through, after all he’s done, he-- he has this. In death, he has peace. Happiness. The people he’s lost returned to him. It feels too good to be true, but they’re warm, he’s warm in their arms, and he can’t hold back the shattering anymore, and he lets them fold him in their arms as he sobs, keening wails that have been building for centuries upon centuries. 

He feels a hand in his hair -- Gil’s, he thinks -- and hears Hermes humming something comforting, some soft song he faintly recognizes. They’re here. Maybe they can’t know what he’s gone through, can never know the pain and the loneliness of two thousand years -- and he could _never_ wish that knowing upon them -- but they’re here. They’re here with him now, and he isn’t alone.

“I love you all,” he rasps out eventually, voice shaking, but he means it. “I-- after all this time, I still-- I still love you. I never stopped. I missed you all so much, I-- I’m sorry. It’s been-- it’s been so _long_ , I’m not…” He chokes off with a muffled sob again, but someone squeezes his hand. “I can’t be who I was. I’m not the same. But if you all still…”

“We still love you,” Hermes says gently. “No matter how messed up you are, no matter what happened, no matter how long it’s been, you’re our Ardyn. Our king, our best friend, our favorite birdbrain. Our _beloved_. Ours, ours forever. And it’s okay if you’re not the same, or if you’ll never be exactly who you were. Who you are now is enough, because you’re still _Ardyn_. Right?” 

“Absolutely right,” Pyrrhus says, his voice still shaky. “Never doubt us, Ardyn. We are yours, we always have been and we always will be. We...never thought you would come back to us intact, the same as you always were. We are not so selfish as to expect that of you. All we care about is that you came back to us at all. You’re here, and...and we have all the time in the world now to take care of you.” he pauses. “Because look at you,” he adds fondly. “Clearly you need it. Can’t take care of yourself without us.”

That pulls a laugh out of Ardyn, and the rest join in, and he finally sits up to look around at them. At Hermes, blond and freckled and smiling through tears. At Pyrrhus, his glasses askew and his expression so very fond and exasperated. At Stella, still teary-eyed, and at Gilgamesh, tired and scarred but looking at him like he-- after everything, his Shield still looked at him like he was the sun.

That gets tears again, and he’s not sure who moves first, but someone does -- he thinks it’s Gil, leaning in to press lips to his, and his whole body shudders before he throws himself into the kiss, clutching at his Shield’s shirt like he’s drowning. They fall backwards, then, and the rest of the group tumbles with them into a pile of arms and legs, the four of them peppering Ardyn with kisses and running hands through his hair and whispering comfort and love.

He’s home. He’s home at last. There’s a small part of his heart that breaks a little, that he gets his dear ones back as Noctis loses his, but he hopes the young king will find happiness with his Oracle now. The two deserve as much. 

But it’s only a passing thought, and he is home again, home in the arms of his loved ones, broken and battered, the fallen king whose fire’s all but gone out-- but he is home, and his love is like kindling, his for them and theirs for him. Maybe he will never burn the same, but maybe his heart will burn again.

He has all the time in the world now to find out. He is not alone, not in the darkness any longer-- he is where he belongs after all this time. And one day he might even heal. 

He can take his time with that, though. No one’s going anywhere now. Not this time, and not ever again. 

They’re _home._

**Author's Note:**

> LISTEN I SWEAR TO GOD ARDYN HAD BETTER GET A HAPPY ENDING OR I WILL RIOT, YOU GAVE US THAT ART, SQUARE, DON'T TEST ME---
> 
> I mean, uh. Yeah, so. It wasn't my original plan for Day 7, but it's what finally came out when I started writing. It works, too, and...it's happy. And sad. And MORE PARALLELS BECAUSE I THINK I'M TRYING TO MAKE A POINT OR SOMETHING HERE, I GUESS? But really. He's not the same person, he lived 2000 years no one will understand -- maybe Gil, but even then -- and that's a lot of distance. But he has the time now, and he can heal. He can rest.
> 
> Let him rest Square, he deserves it ;_;
> 
> (and with that, yescon week is over! i had tons of fun participating, thank you all for indulging me and reading my stuff!)


End file.
